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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29301099">Really Gets My Motor Running</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/fancywaffles/pseuds/fancywaffles'>fancywaffles</a>, <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/seofim/pseuds/seofim'>seofim</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Modern Fódlan Setting (Fire Emblem), Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, FE3H AU Big Bang, Getting Together, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Minor Dorothea Arnault/Ingrid Brandl Galatea, Nonbinary Character, Romantic Comedy, Substance Abuse, Sylvain Jose Gautier Being An Idiot, Teacher Felix Hugo Fraldarius, Trans Felix Hugo Fraldarius</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 01:55:28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>10,268</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29301099</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/fancywaffles/pseuds/fancywaffles, https://archiveofourown.org/users/seofim/pseuds/seofim</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>When Sylvain's car breaks down he finds himself at a cute little auto shop with an extremely intriguing pinup advertisement that he can't quite seem to shake. It only gets worse when he meets the model in person.</p><p>(or sylvain falls in love with a pissy pinup grew a plot)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>34</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>102</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>The Three Houses AU Bang</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This is the brainchild of <a href="https://twitter.com/seofim">Fim</a> who also did the AMAZING art for this (srsly, can't even blame Sylvain this time), tell them how great it is!! This is a pinch-hit for the <a href="https://twitter.com/FE3HAUBang">FE3H AU Big Bang</a>! </p><p>Minor content warning, there's mentions/discussions of substance abuse and child abuse in this. It's not graphic, but I will try to warn in the chapter if anything comes up.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Sylvain’s 40,000 Gold Lance-class convertible broke down somewhere between Albetran and Kent. Still closer to Edmund than Derdriu and somehow not near enough to either to get a decent tow. The only place that was open and close enough to push the car to was a little auto shop called <em>Fantine’s Fix</em> run by the most adorable people Sylvain had ever met.</p>
<p>“Have you <em>ever</em> gotten this thing serviced?” the tiny redheaded owner asked him with a mix of suspicion and pity.</p>
<p>“It’s new,” Sylvain said. “Ish. It’s new-ish.”</p>
<p>He couldn’t actually remember when he’d gotten it. The last year or so had been kind of a blur—maybe the last decade if he was honest.</p>
<p>She shook her head at him and gave him an estimate, which he paid little attention to and handed her his Black Card as he walked around the small shop. It was quaint in its own way. The other mechanic, Ashe was chatting up another customer, someone local by the looks of it. They were both engaged in a conversation that Sylvain assumed was about the price of pie or something else equally precious.</p>
<p>There was a novelty to the shop. A sense of love weaved into the walls. Annette Fantine Dominic—as the newspaper clipping framed up against the wall said—had opened the shop five years ago after taking it over from her uncle. She looked even goofier in the picture than in person.</p>
<p>Next to the clipping was a poster advertising the shop. Sylvain couldn’t stop staring at it. It was a pinup style pose on a motorcycle, the model was straddling the seat, but not touching—lifted up on his toes covered in very high cut boots. He was wearing leather pants so tight they looked like leggings and a motorcycle jacket that Sylvain was sure looked better if it was the only thing on. He had sharp cheekbones and ink colored hair. He was striking and his ass was amazing especially in that pose, but the thing Sylvain couldn’t stop staring at was the miserable expression on his face.</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>“What’s the story on this?” Sylvain asked Ashe once he’d finished up with his other client. “I’ve never seen a model look so pissed in one of these.”</p>
<p>“Oh.” Ashe chuckled. “That was when the shop first opened. He’s not a professional model.”</p>
<p>He could be if he wasn’t so angry looking—long lashes, really striking eyes, but just… so pissed. Sylvain couldn’t stop staring.</p>
<p>Ashe had to return to the back to help, so Sylvain amused himself by staring at the poster. If it was an actual pinup it’d probably have just the motorcycle jacket and boots—fuck that would be hot actually… probably need some kind of tagline like ‘free parking in the rear’ or ‘ready to ride.’</p>
<p>“Okay, all done,” Annette said, cheerfully. She detailed the repairs and handed Sylvain his keys. Sylvain smiled at her and flirted just a little, before heading back on the road.</p>
<p>He’d taken a picture of the poster—mostly as a joke so he could show Hilda later since she’d get a kick out of it. He was a little disappointed to see that his phone didn’t really capture the complete disgust in the non-professional model’s expression.</p>
<p>Sylvain went back to Fantine’s Fix the next day, claiming he’d forgotten his receipt. He took another picture of the poster while Ashe printed a new receipt out for him, but this one didn’t capture the spirit either.</p>
<p>“You said this wasn’t a professional?” Sylvain asked Ashe as he handed him the receipt.</p>
<p>Ashe looked a little confused before glancing back over at the poster. Sylvain wasn’t sure how he could ever forget it was there considering it was such a… strange thing to put on the wall. “Ah yeah no, that’s just Felix. Annette’s really good at talking him into things.”</p>
<p>“She should talk him into doing a series, you could make a really grumpy pinup calendar out of it.”</p>
<p>Ashe laughed, good-naturedly. Sylvain decided to let the angry motorcycle nymph named Felix keep his mysterious cranky pinup nature.</p>
<p>Or he’d meant to, until two days later when Sylvain couldn’t stop thinking about it. He wasn’t sure why it was plaguing his mind. It had to be the strangeness of such an attractive guy with such a sour expression in such a ridiculous pose.</p>
<p>Either way he couldn’t <em>stop</em> thinking about it or the fact that apparently Felix was a friend of Annette’s. Maybe that meant angry motorcycle nymph went by the shop sometimes and Sylvain could find out if he was that hot—and that mean—in person.</p>
<p>So he did the reasonable thing and drove into town again. Then slashed his own tire as an excuse to patron <em>Fantine’s Fix</em>.</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>The bowl of popcorn Annette had chosen seemed to engulf her lap. Felix was trying to figure out where in his kitchen she even found it, when he realized she was still blabbing.</p>
<p>“And it’s <em>so</em> weird! He’s been to the shop five times and is clearly breaking his own car,” Annette shook her head and shoved some popcorn into her mouth. Thankfully the movie she’d picked wasn’t that interesting, because Felix hadn’t gotten to watch much of it over Annette talking about some strange customer.</p>
<p>“Is he looking for excuses to sniff after you or Ashe?” Felix asked, cracking the top off another hard root-beer—something he only purchased and would only drink because of Annette.</p>
<p>“That’s what I thought!” Annette gesticulated a little wildly and a few popcorn kernels flew off the side of the bowl. “But he hasn’t asked either of us out, so I think he’s a serial killer.”</p>
<p>Felix snorted and took a swig of his drink. “Maybe he’s just shy.”</p>
<p>Annette laughed one derisive, “Ha!” and shook her head. “If you’d met this guy, you’d know that’s not the problem.”</p>
<p>“Is he stiffing the bill?”</p>
<p>“No,” Annette said, frowning. “He actually tips, which isn’t required and you’re not even supposed to do that to the proprietor!” She set the bowl aside on the couch and looked at Felix with a serious face. “So he must be a serial killer. That’s why I need you to come by the shop tomorrow when he comes to pick up his car from his transmission being <em>missing</em>.”</p>
<p>Felix had planned to catch up on grading tomorrow. He frowned. “That doesn’t explain why you need me.”</p>
<p>Annette sighed dramatically. “You need to dress all biker mean and be grouchy and intimidating so he knows I have tough friends!” She gestured to him and then herself. “Ashe and I can’t be intimidating!”</p>
<p>Felix’s mouth twisted. That was impossible to argue with. “All right, fine.”</p>
<p>Annette beamed at him and squeezed his arm. She was so enthusiastic in thanking him, she practically squeaked. Felix had to try and hide his smirk with another sip.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>&amp;</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Felix somehow let Annette talk him into the exact outfit he needed to wear to be ‘intimidating.’ Partially it was because she’d challenged him to a bet that she could guess what was in his closet—a bet Felix would have <em>won</em>, except his brain had blocked out the awful old-timey butler costume he’d been forced into for spirit week at school.The outfit she’d made him wear was mostly fine (the spikes on the jacket she forced on him were a bit much)—but Felix still hated losing.</p>
<p>He leaned forward over the counter, already bored. Annoyingly, Annette had confiscated the papers he’d brought to grade and pass the time. Felix’s fingers tapped against his motorcycle helmet that he had no reason to hold under his arm and not keep with his bike, except it ‘completed the look’ apparently. It was also stupid to wear sunglasses indoors.</p>
<p>If it wasn’t Annette and Ashe, Felix would’ve been convinced they were fucking with him.</p>
<p>The door opened with a cheery ring that set Felix’s teeth on edge and he had to tilt his head forward to actually see over the sunglasses as the tall redhead Annette described as a serial killer walked in.</p>
<p>He was tall and did have red hair, although it was a shade that somehow felt aggressive. He walked in far too cocky and comfortable with the place for how expensive his car was—from the sounds of it, it definitely wasn’t a model Annette generally maintained. Unsurprisingly the guy’s eye immediately turned towards Felix, but surprisingly his reaction wasn’t to look scared or confused—instead he let out a low whistle and grinned.</p>
<p>“Annette didn’t tell me there’d be a celebrity here?”</p>
<p>“What?” Felix blinked at him, not that the guy could see because of the shaded lenses.</p>
<p>“Felix, right?” the guy, that should <em>not</em> have known Felix’s name, said.</p>
<p>Fuck, maybe he was a serial killer. “Do I know you?”</p>
<p>The sunglasses came in handy to dim that stupid smarmy grin of his. “No, but I’m a big fan of your work.”</p>
<p>Felix was struggling for any of that to make sense and was about to ask if this guy was a parent at the school (which, for some reason he doubted—if this guy was a parent he wasn’t an involved one judging by the clothes, the shoes, and the car), when he saw the maybe-serial killer gesture towards a wall.</p>
<p>A wall that still had that fucking <em>terrible</em> poster Felix would never live down.</p>
<p>The door to the garage swung open to Ashe’s cheerful humming. “Oh hey, Sylvain. Your car’s going to need another few—”</p>
<p>“Why is that still up?” Felix asked, rounding on Ashe.</p>
<p>Ashe shrugged both his shoulders, helplessly. “I don’t pick the decor.”</p>
<p>“Annie!” Felix barked. He knew she could hear him. “I’m burning that thing!”</p>
<p>“No!” Annette shouted from behind the still swinging door. Her small legs worked quickly and she was by Ashe’s side in an instant. “You can’t! That’s from the shop’s first <em>ever</em> ad campaign! It’s historical!”</p>
<p>“It’s obscene,” Felix snapped. “You said you threw it out.”</p>
<p>“I said I threw out the copies,” Annette countered, because she was a malicious imp. “I didn’t say I got rid of the original.”</p>
<p>“There are copies?” the rich guy asked, far too eagerly.</p>
<p>“Ohhh,” Ashe said and then covered a small laugh with his hand, pretending it was a cough. “Ah, anyway like I was saying, Sylvain. The car might take another… twenty minutes.”</p>
<p>“I can wait,” Sylvain said, smiling wide and staring directly at Felix. “You know, if I have some pleasant company.”</p>
<p>“Are you being pleasant?” Annette asked, sounding upset. “<em>Now</em> of all times?”</p>
<p>Ashe cleared his throat and gestured towards the back. “Don’t you want to finish up Sylvain’s car?”</p>
<p>“It’s already—” Annette cut herself off and then something transpired between her and Ashe staring at each other that must have had some hidden meaning, because suddenly she was back to her bubbly-self again, walking backwards towards the garage. “Oh! You’re <em>right</em>, Ashe! Still need to tweak a few things… with that missing transmission—Felix, don’t touch the poster!”</p>
<p>“We’re not done discussing this,” Felix snapped, but the door swung closed a little too conveniently quickly for her to respond.</p>
<p>“Do you actually own those boots or were they for the shoot?” Sylvain asked, unfortunately reminding Felix he was there.</p>
<p>Felix turned around, noticing the guy had gotten a little closer in the last minute or so. It was setting Felix’s hackles up. “Isn’t this place a little out of the way for someone like you?”</p>
<p>“Someone like me?” Sylvain asked, pointing to himself with both thumbs and giving an absurdly fake innocent face. “A handsome, charming stranger?”</p>
<p>“Rich asshole,” Felix said.</p>
<p>Sylvain seemed to choke on a laugh and cleared his throat into his fist before grinning far too broadly. “I have to say, you are even better than I imagined.”</p>
<p>“You imagined?” Felix asked and then his eyes drew towards the poster and he scowled. “Unngh.”</p>
<p>“So you really ride? Wasn’t only for show?” Sylvain asked. He’d stepped even closer. Felix had a pretty good angle to slam his helmet into his crotch if he needed to—sure he knew some kendo moves that would be a little bit more elegant, but he liked having options. Sylvain’s voice was irritatingly deep. “Do you own those boots?”</p>
<p>“Yes,” Felix said, his scowl increasing. He had reached his limit on following Annette’s dumb plan, especially since this guy didn’t seem to have enough common sense to get intimidated. “Why do you keep dropping in to Annette’s shop? No one needs this many repairs.”</p>
<p>“So you’ve talked about me?” Sylvain asked, his smile twisting into something that rubbed Felix the wrong way. “Only nice things, I’m sure.”</p>
<p>“Annette’s pretty sure you’re a serial killer,” Felix said.</p>
<p>Sylvain blinked at him. He seemed to mull that over for a moment and then shrugged. “Well, sometimes they are charming and handsome too, so I guess I’ll take that as a compliment.”</p>
<p>“Don’t.”</p>
<p>The smile turned into a smirk. A smarmy one with a leer. “I was enamored by your picture and Ashe mentioned you were a friend of the shop, so I’ve been unlucky enough with my car to get lucky enough to patron this fine establishment a few times.”</p>
<p>“Enamored,” Felix said, dryly. “Right.”</p>
<p>The potential serial killer put a hand to his chest. “I have never felt this way before. The image haunted me. I had to meet you—and here you are in person even better than I could have expected.”</p>
<p>The inauthentic smirk paired with the face that knew exactly how attractive it was made Felix want to knock him upside the skull with his helmet. Sylvain stared at him, almost expectantly. “So, you free for dinner tonight? I was thinking you could haunt a few more of my dreams.”</p>
<p>Oh for Seiros’ sake… “Does that actually work on people?”</p>
<p>Sylvain shrugged one shoulder, half his mouth still wandering upwards. “Usually, yeah. You seem immune.” <em>He</em> seemed amused.</p>
<p>“Great, you can take a hint.” Felix moved to the side, closer to the edge of the counter and away from where Sylvain had started to lean into his space.</p>
<p>“Is that a no on dinner?” Sylvain asked. He actually <em>winked</em>. “I bet I can show you a good time.”</p>
<p>Felix clutched his helmet to keep from throwing it and let out an annoyed scoff. “Stop breaking your car. You’re creeping Annette and Ashe out.”</p>
<p>To give him a microscopic amount of credit, Sylvain did look a little abashed at that. “I thought they’d enjoy the expensive repairs. Maybe… at the most think I was eccentric.”</p>
<p>He ran his hand through his hair, somehow mussing it up but also making it look better. Felix really hated this guy.</p>
<p>Sylvain looked through his eyelashes at him. “So, can I at least get your number?”</p>
<p>“<em>No</em>,” Felix said, a noise escaping his mouth that might have been a laugh. Was this guy actually demented? “You don’t even know me.”</p>
<p>“That’s what the date would be for,” Sylvain insisted. “I want to know the mystery behind that molten scowl.”</p>
<p>Felix blinked at him. Was that supposed to be a line? He hadn’t been dating much lately, but Felix was pretty sure the bar hadn’t been set <em>this</em> low.</p>
<p>Sylvain seemed to take his silence as prompting to continue. “I’m in town for a while and you… are nearby or else your motorcycle jacket would be dirtier.”</p>
<p>“Excellent detective work,” Felix said, dryly.</p>
<p>The idiot took it as encouragement and his lips started quirking up again. “Where’d you find a jacket with spikes anyway?”</p>
<p>“Thrift store,” Felix muttered. He was going to kill Annette. Why the hell wasn’t she done with this jackass’s car yet?</p>
<p>“It…” Sylvain made a face, awkwardly contorting his smile into something else as he struggled for words—which while Felix had only just met him, didn’t seem to be a problem he generally had. “Well, I don’t know if it suits you, spikes are a little aggressive, but I do have to say that you’re made for leather.”</p>
<p>The way he said it made it clear that Sylvain not only thought that line would work, but had probably used something similar in the past that actually had. He clearly floated by on money and good looks to make no actual effort.</p>
<p>Felix pushed his sunglasses back up his nose and turned around. He didn’t have time for this; he had a pile of papers to grade.</p>
<p>“Is it vegan? They make good vegan leather now!” Sylvain called after him as Felix pushed his way through the back to where his bike was parked. Annette and Ashe were chatting and <em>clearly</em> done with the car. The car being an ostentatious sporty burgundy car that probably cost as much as a normal person’s house.</p>
<p>“Of <em>course</em> this is his car,” Felix said to himself as he retrieved his papers and then went for his bike, leaving without responding to Annette or Ashe’s pestering questions.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Sylvain goes to visit his nibling, whose favorite teacher happens to be Mr. F.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>CW: minor mention of Miklan related abuse</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“I don’t know what happened,” Sylvain said as he and Dimitri made their way through the hotel lobby. “I’m never this bad at it. I had all these great ideas in my head for things to say and my tongue just felt like lead.”</p>
<p>Dimitri nodded, no real sympathy, but at least pretending to have some which was more Sylvain could say for Hilda who had only sent him back a gif of a monkey laughing uproariously when he gave her some of the minor details.</p>
<p>“I’ve dated models before,” Sylvain said, defensively. He ignored the eyebrow of judgement Dimitri shot his way. It wasn’t like he too, didn’t know the traverses of being rich and devastatingly attractive. It meant people threw themselves at you—but Sylvain did make an effort, even if he knew they wouldn’t really be anything worth going after. It was always the same thing.</p>
<p>“Do you think,” Dimitri said, carefully, which meant he was going to say something Sylvain wouldn’t like, “that perhaps most of the appeal in this for you is that it did go badly?”</p>
<p>“Like a challenge?” Sylvain considered that as he sidestepped someone exiting the conference hall as they entered.</p>
<p>“No,” Dimitri said, a little too emphatically.</p>
<p>“I’m not going to stalk him,” Sylvain said. He flashed a smile at the waitstaff holding up a tray of drinks for the mixer that was pretending like it was more than only tangentially related to actual work. He grabbed one when offered.</p>
<p>“More you mean,” Dimitri said, waving off the offer of a drink for himself.</p>
<p>“I…” Sylvain held the drink in his hand thinking about the fact that the pissy pinup had told him sweet little Annette thought he was dangerous… and okay maybe some of his car related issues had been a little too obviously faked, but… “I didn’t <em>mean</em> to be creepy. I thought it’d be more natural, but he took too long to show up.”</p>
<p>“I’m certain that was the only issue in your plan,” Dimitri said, very evenly, so evenly that if you didn’t know him you’d think he wasn’t being brutally sarcastic.</p>
<p>Sylvain had a nice follow-up for him, but his phone buzzed. He looked down at it, ignoring the updated comment from Ferdinand in the <em>Rich Bitches</em> group chat, when he saw a text from Sprig.</p>
<p>“We’re pretty much done with any of the pretend work we have to do, right?” Sylvain asked. They’d probably move onto the bigger cities, like the capital after this, but unless the CEO needed a stand-in or said CEO wanted his son to meet another eligible boring rich princess-type then there wasn’t much for Sylvain to do.</p>
<p>“It depends on why you are asking.”</p>
<p>Dimitri officially outranked Sylvain, sometimes he even sounded like he remembered that. Unofficially, it wouldn’t matter at all if Sylvain ditched without a good reason, since Dimitri occasionally did actual work whereas Sylvain was still a very pretty paperweight. Sylvain couldn’t really be upset about it, considering the reason for Dimitri being the youngest executive in his company (their company, post-merger) was Lambert Blaiddyd passing away.</p>
<p>Did Sylvain hate his father? Yes. Did he wish him dead? No. That would require way too much effort in comforting his mother and actually doing something with his life.</p>
<p>Sylvain was past the quarter-life crisis stage where he thought anything would actually change. His thirties were a much more comfortable state of accepting the realities that his life was just inertia and misanthropy.</p>
<p>“My nibling lives near here.”</p>
<p>“Nibling?” Dimitri asked.</p>
<p>“Gender neutral term for child of your deadbeat brother,” Sylvain said, smirking.</p>
<p>Dimitri looked around the room of socializing executives, keen on their next boring topic, and sighed. “I’ll text you if you’re needed.”</p>
<p>They both knew that was never happening. “Thanks, Dimitri. You’re a prince.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>&amp;</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Sylvain wished anyone greeted him as enthusiastically as Sprig did. His nibling was all limbs, clearly on the upswing of another growth spurt. Brown hair, Gautier freckles smattered across their face, and a grin that could light up the room since they were toddling. Thirteen years ago, Sylvain had been cornered in the parking lot of a liquor store by a very pregnant ex-flame of Miklan’s, demanding child support from the father that had unsurprisingly fucked off the second he’d realized she was keeping the kid. Letty had been desperate and scared and was younger than Sylvain—who’d only <em>just</em> graduated.</p>
<p>Sylvain was too young to do anything useful and did the stupid thing of actually telling his parents, but it had turned out that being an uncle was the only thing Sylvain was actually good at. Rowan Page-Gautier was a sprouted tree that kept on going, no matter what the world threw at them.</p>
<p>“Who’s Mimi?” Sylvain asked, pausing Rowan’s very long story about how great their art teacher Mr. F was and how they were absolutely going to go for the fencing team he coached, next year.</p>
<p>“Your mother,” Letty translated as she finished setting out a half broken box of crackers and some possibly expired soda bottles in an effort to ‘host’ Sylvain.</p>
<p>Sylvain winced and gave his nibling a careful look. “Did she tell you call her that?”</p>
<p>Rowan shook their head, some hair escaping the headband holding most of it back. “I saw it on the internet, it’s like a bougie way to say Grandma, so I figured she’d love it.” Rowan’s smile got a little smug. “She did. Got me a new laptop.”</p>
<p>“Rowan,” Letty scolded, but Sylvain was laughing.</p>
<p>“I’ve never been so proud, Sprig.” He ignored Rowan’s loud disgust at the nickname he refused to drop. “Although I really don’t ever want to hear the word ‘bougie’ again, please. It attacks me in my aged bones.”</p>
<p>Rowan rolled their eyes and then looked up at Sylvain very intently. “The art program I want for it—it’s kind of expensive too. If… you wanted to get me something early for my birthday.”</p>
<p>Sylvain chuckled and pulled his wallet out. “How much?”</p>
<p>“Sylvain,” Letty said, scolding <em>him </em>now. “Don’t act like a walking credit card. Rowan can work fine off the free software the school lets them use.”</p>
<p>“It’s not like I don’t have the funds,” Sylvain said—he made himself not look at the sad little table of treats for entertaining. Letty was still in her waitressing uniform and she looked even more exhausted than normal. Sprig in a growth spurt couldn’t have been cheap. “Come on, what else am I good for?”</p>
<p>“Please, Mom?” Sprig asked, blinking fast as if they were attempting to flutter their eyelashes. It was funnier than it was effective, but charming none-the-less.</p>
<p>“I’ll think about it,” Letty said with a sigh. “After dinner. Sylvain, is pizza okay?”</p>
<p>“Sure,” Sylvain said. His wallet was still out, so he pulled out one of his cards and held it up to her. “If you pick it up and some groceries so I don’t have to eat these crackers, I will be ever so grateful.”</p>
<p>Letty stared at him and then at the card. She held out like a champ for at least fifteen seconds before snatching it from him. Always practical at least.</p>
<p>He (barely) resisted buying Sprig the art program they wanted the second Letty was out the door, but instead got Sprig to tell him what they wanted it for. Apparently an art showcase for the school was happening in a couple of weeks.</p>
<p>“I want to do multimedia,” Rowan said. “But, the metal work stuff we did last week was wicked. The blade could rend flesh and bone.”</p>
<p>“Horrifying,” Sylvain said, amused. He stared at the sad pile of crackers on the table and swept them up to dump them in the trash. He figured he probably should empty out the soda too to be on the safe side. One peek at that sell-by date told him all he needed to know.</p>
<p>“It’s what Mr. F said,” Rowan said, saying their teacher’s name with a cheerful intonation of awe. “The software I want lets you bend and cut metal too, but virtually. I think I could do something interactive for my exhibit.”</p>
<p>“Like a video game?” Sylvain asked, pouring one of the sodas down the drain.</p>
<p>“Yeah!” Rowan said, excitedly.</p>
<p>“Your art teacher is okay with that?” Sylvain snorted. “Last time I had a class like that all I remember is getting yelled at for liking comic books.”</p>
<p>“Oh, yeah. Micah was worried about that too, because he likes drawing anime stuff. I think he just likes tits,” Rowan said the last part under their breath and snorted a giggle when Sylvain pretended to look scandalized. “But Mr. F said that constraining art to ‘real art’ and ‘fake art’ is <em>pedantic</em> and if any other teacher gave him crap to look up what that comic guy, Ignatz Victor makes a year.”</p>
<p>One of the diversified portfolio companies they’d taken on was producing the sixth movie based on Victor’s comics. Sylvain could only guess it was a fair sum. “Sounds like Mr. F is pretty cool. You haven’t said a word about your other teachers.”</p>
<p>“They’re okay,” Rowan said, charitably.</p>
<p>Sylvain snorted, but his follow-up comment was halted as he noticed a familiar scrawl on some mail on the counter. The bottom of his stomach dropped out and he stared at the curving, elegant swoop of Miklan Gautier’s handwriting—especially compared to the otherwise crude… everything else.</p>
<p>“Sprig,” Sylvain asked, not going so far as to commit mail fraud and read the damn thing, “your mom… get in touch with anyone lately?”</p>
<p>“He’s doing the steps,” Rowan said, leaning over the back of the couch. They pressed their pointed chin onto their hands resting on the edge of the couch and stared at Sylvain. “You’re talking about Miklan, right?”</p>
<p>Sylvain frowned. He realized he was still holding one of the bottles upside down over the sink;the soda drained out of it ages ago. “He’s in recovery?”</p>
<p>Being what Sylvain liked to refer to as addict adjacent himself, he probably should’ve had some sympathy—should’ve welled up some pity for his abusive big brother, but Sylvain stopped trying to excuse and defend him when he abandoned his kid.</p>
<p>“That’s what Mom said.” Rowan was staring at him, dark eyes assessing and frank.</p>
<p>Sylvain stilled his reaction and tossed the soda in the bin for recyclables with an easy smile. “Well, that’s something I guess. He come by here?”</p>
<p>Rowan shook their head. “Mom doesn’t want him knowing where we live.”</p>
<p>Good. Sylvain felt some relief at that, but it was overwhelmed by the malaise of Miklan after all this time trying to… make amends. It didn’t feel right. It felt… convenient. Letty didn’t want anything to do with Miklan, Sylvain was sure of that. She hadn’t been too keen on living near the Gautiers in case Miklan got re-inherited. But Letty had been sober for a while and might’ve forgotten what Miklan was like—or worse felt obligated to let someone else make amends.</p>
<p>Sylvain glanced over at Sprig. He remembered being thirteen. He remembered Miklan’s meaty hands shoving him him sideways out of the car while it was moving. It had been hard to explain that one away, but they’d somehow managed.</p>
<p>Sylvain got Rowan back onto Mr. F and their art project ideas and by the time Letty arrived with the pizza, they’d completely dropped the topic of Miklan.</p>
<p>“You mind if I crash on the couch?” Sylvain asked, swallowing around a bite.</p>
<p>Letty raised an eyebrow. “You don’t want to stay in a plush hotel?”</p>
<p>Sylvain gave her an easy smile. “I’m going to be in town for a few weeks and this is really the only place I want to visit, so why stay anywhere else?”</p>
<p>“If Uncle Vain is staying over can he pick me up tomorrow?” Rowan asked, too excitedly.</p>
<p>“The pullout isn’t comfortable,” Letty said, hesitant. She had the same frank stare of her kid, but whatever she was looking for in Sylvain she didn’t seem to find. She sighed. “I mean, of course. You’re welcome to stay here.” Letty held back a laugh as Rowan loudly cleared their throat. “And also welcome to pick Ro up if you’d like.”</p>
<p>“In the Lancer,” Rowan said, nodding. “With the top down. And you can wear those sunglasses right?”</p>
<p>“Who are you trying to impress?” Sylvain asked, laughing.</p>
<p>“Everyone,” Rowan said as if that was obvious.</p>
<p>“Well, I did just get her fixed up,” Sylvain said, trying not to think about his auto-shop self-inflicted humiliation. If he got into any real car trouble while he was here, he’d probably have to get towed to Derdriu to save face.</p>
<p>Rowan pumped their fist in victory and went after a fourth slice of pizza, while their mother shook her head. Sylvain could wait a couple of days to bring up the Miklan thing with Letty… either way he was planning on being around.</p>
<p> </p><hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>Felix should’ve ducked around the corner when he saw Dorothea come towards him. “No.”</p>
<p>“Felix, <em>please</em>,” Dorothea said, dramatically putting her hands in an actual prayer position. “This venue is really tight and if I don’t get down there with the deposit we’ll lose it and Ingrid will actually try to get married at Annie’s garage!”</p>
<p>Felix stared at her, trying to convey how little he cared about this. “No.”</p>
<p>“You’ll barely have to do anything,” Dorothea said. “The kids basically watch themselves. You just need to sit at the desk. It’s less interactive than detention.”</p>
<p>“No,” Felix said again.</p>
<p>Dorothea threw her hands up in the air. “I shouldn’t have to beg you. You signed on as the faculty sponsor!”</p>
<p>“You made me!” Felix retorted.</p>
<p>Dorothea didn’t have a response to that. She had pretty much strong-armed him into signing on as the second sponsor, because they needed two. Even had a couple of the kids who wanted to start up the club behind her when she asked, to make it even harder to say no.</p>
<p>“Don’t do it for me or for Ingrid. Do it for Bebe,” Dorothea said. “Don’t you want to see your niece as a flower girl in a magical tapestry of wonder and not a metal shack or worse, a <em>park</em>?”</p>
<p>“Tch,” Felix scoffed. “She’ll put the basket on her head and run down the aisle if you let her.” Which would actually be pretty great. “I don’t think the venue will matter.”</p>
<p>“The carpet will be softer at my venue choice if she trips,” Dorothea said, tartly. Then she stomped her foot on the floor. “Felix, please. It’s <em>one</em> afternoon of your time!”</p>
<p>Felix crossed his arms over his chest. He didn’t feel like giving up an afternoon and setting a precedent. Especially for something as frivolous as Ingrid’s second wedding. “You said, and I quote ‘Felix, you’ll never have to do anything with the QSA club. I only need a signature.’”</p>
<p>Dorothea huffed and then took in a sharp breath. A sly look crossed her face that didn’t bode well. She smiled at Felix. “I’ll convince Ingrid to stop asking you to be in the wedding party if you do this for me.”</p>
<p>Damn it. “Deal,” Felix said. He regretted it almost immediately when Dorothea lit up in victory and had the nerve to actually hug him. He only managed to move away after she’d already done it.</p>
<p>“Thank you! Thank you!” Dorothea said over her shoulder as she hurried down the hall, her heels clicking against the tiled floor.</p>
<p>Felix rubbed his knuckles against the bridge of his nose and made his way to the north side of the school where his afternoon of annoyance was destined. One of the kids had made the Queer-Straight-Alliance sign on the door and Felix tried not to give into the urge to fix the letters, which were not the same size and the Q was horrifyingly backwards. He wasn’t sure if that being an error or a stylistic choice would depress him more.</p>
<p>He took a steeling breath and opened the door.</p>
<p>“Ms. Arnault is out,” Felix said as he entered. “So you’re stuck with me for the afternoon.”</p>
<p>“Hey, Mr. Fraldarius!” Ben said brightly from the back of the classroom where he was huddled with a few others over a laptop. Felix nodded to his former student and happily was ignored for the most part as he made his way to sit at the desk. Dorothea was thankfully not full of it and it did seem like the club ran itself.</p>
<p>He pulled out the book Ashe had given him out of his pocket and flipped to the page he left off on. It wasn’t hard to let the chattering of teenagers roll into background noise, he’d had years of practice at this point.</p>
<p>Felix had one leg up on the desk and was another chapter into the book when one of his current students came up to the desk.</p>
<p>“You need something, Rowan?”</p>
<p>“Um…yeah, I have a question,” Rowan said. They squirmed a little, as if hesitant to ask, even though they’d stepped up for the question in the first place. Another kid came up next to them, much less shy about it.</p>
<p>The kid slammed a hand on the desk. “We need you to break a tie.”</p>
<p>Felix glanced at the tag that had his name and pronouns on it and then looked up at Dominic with an expectant eyebrow.</p>
<p>“Dom thinks dances are heteronormative,” Rowan said, “I think he’s being a douche.”</p>
<p>“Watch it,” Felix said, even though he thought that was pretty funny.They still shouldn’t have said it in front of a teacher.</p>
<p>“I don’t want to waste our entire budget on a dance, Rowan,” Dominic said. “We could do something cool like that charity walk.”</p>
<p>“That’s <em>boring</em>,” Rowan retorted. “A dance would actually be fun and we could maybe get some new members.”</p>
<p>“We are low on the straights,” piped Allegra, one of Felix’s students from two years ago. He narrowed his eyes in her direction and she smothered a laugh in her hand.</p>
<p>“I think it’s a waste of money,” Dominic said, crossing his arms over his chest. “And too much work.”</p>
<p>“He’s right,” Felix said, watching as Rowan’s entire face dropped in utter disappointment almost as dramatically as it had when he’d told them about the fencing team age minimum. “If you want to make money for the club, a dance is a poor choice. It is also a lot of work.” No way in hell was he letting Dorothea drag him into it if the kids ended up going with that. “If you want to do it as a…uh fun activity or to publicize the club, it’s a good choice.”</p>
<p>“I’m not afraid of a little work,” Rowan said.</p>
<p>It spiraled into a full on debate that Felix ended up having to moderate for the next half-hour.</p>
<p><em>Barely have to do anything</em>, Dorothea had said. <em>The kids watch themselves</em>. Why did he ever believe her?</p>
<p>Rowan hung back a little after the club dismissed, hovering as Felix shoved his book in his back pocket and started to make his way towards the parking lot. “Spit it out, Rowan.”</p>
<p>“I want to do a multimedia project for the art show,” they said in a rush.</p>
<p>Felix wasn’t surprised. Rowan was one of his more out-of-the-box students when it came to materials. “As long as it fits the rubric and no one gets arrested, you can do what you want.”</p>
<p>Rowan fought a smile, trying to remain serious. “I’ll need access to the computer lab after school.”</p>
<p>Which was only available to second years. Felix snorted. “You really don’t want to do anything at your grade level, do you?”</p>
<p>“Is that a no?”</p>
<p>“I’ll see what I can do,” Felix said. “Can’t promise anything, but I think we can work something out.” If anything he was curious what they were going to make.</p>
<p>Rowan beamed at him. The smile and the scattered freckles over their face made Felix think of Ashe—who he was still not talking to after that ‘leave him in the garage with the weirdo’ incident the other day.</p>
<p>Felix held the door open as they exited the school and before he could start walking to his bike, he saw said weirdo, leaned up against his… for lack of a better term douchey car. He was wearing overpriced sunglasses and had a sly grin on his face. Felix was about to call the fucking police, when Rowan cheerfully waved in his direction.</p>
<p>“Uncle Vain!”</p>
<p>The weirdo laughed as Rowan skipped towards him and pulled Rowan into a familiar hug that made Felix slightly less inclined to murder him on the assumption he’d tracked him to the school.</p>
<p>Rowan was still leaning easily into a half hug from their uncle. “Can you drive me, Micah, and Ashleanne to the mall?”</p>
<p>“<em>Asheleanne</em>?” Sylvain asked, raising his eyebrows with a look of disbelief at such a stupid name—Felix had long since gone numb to the concept after years of teaching kids with errant silent letters in places they shouldn’t be.</p>
<p>“She didn’t pick it,” Rowan said with a shrug. “So?”</p>
<p>Sylvain snorted, his lips quirking up in a way that seemed entirely different from the skeezey way they’d gone up at Annie’s shop.“As long as their parents are okay with it, so I don’t end up on the nightly news for kidnapping, then sure. What am I here for if not to be a handsome chauffeur?”</p>
<p>“You’re the best!” Rowan said excitedly, running off in the direction of where presumably their friends were huddled.</p>
<p>Felix didn’t know if that’s where they were going, because Felix was an idiot and wasn’t looking in any direction but the one he shouldn’t have been. Instead of walking away and ignoring the insane coincidence, he was balking at the utter absurdity of it. He spent too long with a twisted confused face that <em>Uncle Vain</em> finally registered his presence.</p>
<p>Sylvain’s eyebrows rose and then dropped down. He pushed up his stupid sunglasses and held up a hand in a sort of awkward wave. “Funny seeing you here.” Then, quickly added, “I swear I’m not a stalker. I didn’t—you’re a teacher?”</p>
<p>“Yes,” Felix said, stiffly.</p>
<p>“That is… surprising,” Sylvain said, bemused. He cleared his throat. “I did mention that I’m not a stalker right?”</p>
<p>“If even a single student gets a glimpse of that poster, they will never find your body,” Felix said flatly.</p>
<p>Sylvain did a bad job of coughing to cover a laugh. He stared at Felix, before he apparently understood how serious Felix was and cleared his throat. “I’ll delete it as my phone background.”</p>
<p>Felix’s eyebrows raised and he was about to actually murder him before Sylvain held up his hand in a placating manner said, “Kidding.”</p>
<p>“Jory wanted to come too,” Rowan said, appearing behind Felix and forcing his teacher manners to slide back into place. They looked up at Felix and smiled. “See you tomorrow, Mr. F.”</p>
<p>He nodded and had no idea what Sylvain’s additional eyebrow raise meant, but decided he’d take the opportunity to turn back towards his bike and hope that <em>Uncle Vain</em> had a short visit.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Sylvain continues to watch out for Miklan and Felix prepares for the student art show.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I recommend putting on work skins for this one.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Sylvain had finally found a decent coffee place near the apartment, but the line was taking forever. He couldn’t settle himself without caffeine so he pulled up his phone instead.</p>
<p> </p>
<p></p><div class="phone">
  <p class="messagebody">
    <span class="header">Rich Bitches</span><br/>
<br/>
<span class="greply"><span class="hide"><b>Sylvain: </b></span>any of you actually like the lawyers the fam has on retainer?</span><br/>
<span class="grouptext">Lorenz</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Lorenz: </b></span>our family attorney is more than capable </span><br/>
<span class="grouptext">Hellda</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Hellda: </b></span>LOL did angry bike hottie put a restraining order on you?</span><br/>
<span class="grouptext">Lorenz</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Lorenz: </b></span>that’s also going to require a PR reference, but I suspect you are experienced in that regard </span><br/>
<span class="grouptext">Ferdi-nag 🐴</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Ferdi-nag Horse Emoji: </b></span>It is important to know when to let go when your attempts of ardor have been rejected. I have been trying to explain this to Lorenz. </span><br/>
<span class="grouptext">Lorenz</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Lorenz: </b></span>It REQUIRES no explanation, Ferdinand. </span><br/>
<span class="grouptext">Prince Charming</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Prince Charming: </b></span>I keep asking you to remove me from this group chat. </span>
  </p>
</div><p>Sylvain pressed his knuckles to the bridge of his nose and wondered why these were his friends.</p>
<p> </p>
<p></p><div class="phone">
  <p class="messagebody">
    <span class="header">Rich Bitches</span><br/>
<br/>
<span class="greply"><span class="hide"><b>Sylvain: </b></span>its not for me</span><br/>
<span class="greply"><span class="hide"><b>Sylvain: </b></span>well its for me, but I am not the one having an issue. I just want to get some advice and don’t really trust attorney client privilege extends to keeping it from the paycheck</span><br/>
<span class="greply"><span class="hide"><b>Sylvain: </b></span>aka my father</span><br/>
<span class="grouptext">Hellda</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Hellda: </b></span>oh no, they’d totally squeal</span><br/>
<span class="grouptext">Lorenz</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Lorenz: </b></span> Quite</span><br/>
<span class="grouptext">Ferdi-nag 🐴</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Ferdi-nag Horse Emoji: </b></span> I have to agree.</span>
  </p>
</div><p>His phone made the sound of a sword clanking and a message from only Dimitri popped up almost immediately.</p>
<p> </p>
<p></p><div class="phone">
  <p class="messagebody">
    <span class="header"><span class="hide"><b>Prince Charming</b></span>Prince Charming</span><br/>
<br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Dimitri: </b></span>Is everything all right?</span><br/>
<br/>
</p>
</div><p>Sylvain stared at it, trying to figure out how to answer. He and Dimitri were friends, good friends even, but getting into the details of Miklan and everything that it dragged into the dumpster with it was a little too much for even a good friend. Not only was it the heavy weight of Gautier drama, but Sylvain didn’t really come out smelling like a rose either.</p>
<p>Sylvain glanced up to see if the line had moved any, but the person in front of him was still ordering. He stared at them rather than think about having to reply to Dimitri’s text.</p>
<p>The barista looked strained. “Ma’am, I appreciate the business but that is going to be the entire pastry tray. Are you sure?”</p>
<p>“You’re right,” a very familiar voice said, “I also want one of those breakfast sandwiches. Ooh the one with gouda and apple sausage.”</p>
<p>Yep. That was definitely Ingrid. “If you argue with her about how much food she can eat this line will never move,” Sylvain said to the barista.</p>
<p>Ingrid spun around and her eyebrows raised as she recognized him. “Sylvain? What are you <em>doing</em> here?”</p>
<p>He shouldn’t have been surprised at the hug—but it startled him anyway. He recovered admirably at least and squeezed back. It’d been years since he’d seen his childhood partner-in-crime (well more like childhood tell on Sylvain when he committed crimes, but that was pedantic). Ingrid looked pretty much the same, though her hair was a lot shorter.</p>
<p>“Trying to order some coffee,” he said.</p>
<p>“Oh right,” Ingrid laughed and finished her order. The barista stacked up two boxes worth of pastries for her, while another barista came to take Sylvain’s order.</p>
<p>“Iced triple shot espresso with oat milk and one pump of the vanilla chai syrup. Unless you have a bigger cup and then make it a quad.”</p>
<p>The barista nodded, unphased and went to make his order. He shoved his phone in his pocket while he caught up with his old friend.</p>
<p>“So really,” Ingrid asked, mid chew of a cherry danish, “what are you doing in Leicester?”</p>
<p>“Visiting family I actually like,” Sylvain said, making a bet with himself she’d pick the crumbs off her top and eat them. “Sprig’s mom moved to Kent.”</p>
<p>“Miklan’s kid?” Ingrid asked.</p>
<p>Avoiding explaining things to Dimitri and running into someone he didn’t have to explain anything to was a funny way of the universe giving him both what he did and didn’t want. Sylvain nodded and then enjoyed the excuse of his name being called to grab his drink as a momentary distraction.</p>
<p>“Kent has a good school district,” Ingrid said. “We’ve been looking at houses in the area.”</p>
<p>“Sprig loves their teachers,” Sylvain agreed, fighting a smile and trying very hard not to think about ‘Mr. F’ and his murderous glare. He couldn’t believe the bike pinup from his dreams was a teacher… Sprig’s favorite to boot. That really meant he couldn’t fuck anything up. He’d have to be on his best behavior. Which was going to be difficult, given how much Sylvain liked that glare.</p>
<p>He glanced at Ingrid’s hand, which was in fact sweeping crumbs off her shirt and into her other ringed hand before then eating them up. He hid his smile in a sip of his caffeine.“So, who’s we?”</p>
<p>“Dorothea,” Ingrid said, happily. She held up her hand, another pastry with half a bite already in it, and showed off the ring. “She’s pretty much perfect.”</p>
<p>“Congratulations,” Sylvain said. They moved out of the way of people getting their orders once Ingrid’s drink and breakfast sandwich was also finished and sat down at a booth. He was glad Ingrid didn’t have anywhere to be, because Sylvain was free until Rowan finished their computer lab.</p>
<p>“It’s strange planning another wedding,” Ingrid said, like she was admitting a dark secret. “Sometimes I feel like the last one was yesterday.”</p>
<p>Her wedding band, Sylvain noticed now that she was fiddling with it, was hanging on a chain around her neck. There was another band there, bigger, which was probably her late husband’s.</p>
<p>She blinked and seemed to come out of her funk with a smile and finished off her breakfast sandwich. “How is Sprig?” Ingrid asked.</p>
<p>She probably couldn’t remember Rowan’s actual name. Sylvain couldn’t really fault her; he was still trying to think of a nice way to ask after her kid whose name kept escaping him. It was still funny hearing someone else call Rowan that. “They’re amazing, so much so that I’m constantly surprised they’re related to me.”</p>
<p>“Oh don’t get self-deprecating on me,” Ingrid chided. “I’ve seen you on the cover of a magazine, you’re doing fine.”</p>
<p>Sylvain took another sip of his drink. “Didn’t know you kept up with the tabloids, Ingrid. My, how things have changed.”</p>
<p>She rolled her eyes in that way that only someone who knew and had put up with him for years could do. Fondly and also with too much exasperation. “The Hresvelg business one, I think it’s Hegemon or something.”</p>
<p>Sylvain groaned. That was the photo-op he and Dimitri had been forced into once the businesses merged. The only upside was that their minor acquaintanceship had been turned into an actual friendship bonding over how annoying the entire thing was. “I felt like a peacock.”</p>
<p>“You love being a peacock,” Ingrid said, simply.</p>
<p>“I could have changed,” Sylvain objected. He hadn’t, but he could have. The knowing look on Ingrid’s face was too much for him to handle. “How’s the kid?”</p>
<p>“Amazing, infuriating, adorable—very much like her father,” Ingrid said, endlessly fond. “She’s finally started preschool, so I started working again. I have to say I missed it.”</p>
<p>“Paramedic still?” Sylvain asked, reaching for one of her danishes and getting his hand swatted before Ingrid relented and shoved one of the smaller ones towards him.</p>
<p>“No,” she said. “Just a desk job right now. I don’t know if I still have the energy for anything else anymore.”</p>
<p>Sylvain barely remembered when Sprig was five, let alone how much energy they might’ve taken. He didn’t want to think about why. “I know we’re doing the old friend catch-up thing, but do you still have any law enforcement contacts?”</p>
<p>“Just Glenn’s old fire station,” Ingrid said, actually putting her food down to give him her full attention, “why?”</p>
<p>“Miklan got out of prison.” And Letty had pretty much told Sylvain to butt out since <em>she</em> was the parent and not the fun uncle. “I was trying to see what kind of hoops he’d need to jump through to get visitation. Just in case.”</p>
<p>“Mm,” Ingrid frowned. “Dorothea might know a social worker through the school. I’ll ask.” She eyed him knowingly. “Extended stay in town then?”</p>
<p>Sylvain shrugged. “Nothing better to do.”</p>
<p>He stayed another half-hour chatting with Ingrid and catching up, complete with more baby pictures than he ever wanted to see squeezed between a couple of shots of her and Dorothea—who, <em>well done</em>, Ingrid, he had to say.</p>
<p>Sylvian said his goodbyes and leaned against the brick wall outside the shop for a moment before pulling his phone back out of his pocket.</p>
<p> </p>
<p></p><div class="phone">
  <p class="messagebody">
    <span class="header"><span class="hide"><b>Prince Charming</b></span>Prince Charming</span><br/>
<br/>
<span class="breply"><span class="hide"><b>Sylvain: </b></span>its fine</span><br/>
<br/>
<span class="breply"><span class="hide"><b>Sylvain: </b></span>but thanks for asking </span><br/>
<br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Dimitri: </b></span>of course</span><br/>
<br/>
</p>
</div><p> </p><hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>“Boy,” Ashe said, ever unhelpful, “if he is a serial killer, he sure does play the long game.”</p>
<p>“Ashe,” Annette said, tutting her tongue. “Clearly we have moved into romantic comedy territory, keep up.”</p>
<p>“I hate both of you,” Felix said.</p>
<p>He ignored their amusement and focused on what he was actually here for which was to find spare parts. Annette kept a box for him of stuff that was no longer useable and he’d melted it down more than once for extra material. Easier than going to the junkyards on his bike, anyway.</p>
<p>“He is cute, I think,” Annette said. “Right Ashe?”</p>
<p>“I’d say handsome,” Ashe said, like he was seriously giving a critique to one of Annette’s attempts at baked goods.</p>
<p>Felix knew what was coming before it even left Annette’s lips. He had a full body wince even before she said, “Felix, do <em>you</em> think he’s cute?”</p>
<p>“He’s traditionally attractive and both of you know that,” Felix said, because if he said no they’d immediately know he was lying.</p>
<p>He kept staring at the metal pieces and tried focusing on how many would fit in his bag and not on how fucking weird it was that he’d been interested in Felix over that humiliating poster. It’d been a couple of weeks and Felix hadn’t run into Sylvain, but had caught a few glimpses, since he seemed to be Rowan’s personal chauffeur. And as much as Felix wanted to avoid teenage gossip, it always found him. Apparently ‘Uncle Vain’ was an entirely different person from Sylvain the serial killer who’d hit on Felix like someone trying to open a jar with a hydraulic press.</p>
<p>Rowan’s popularity had picked up tenfold with kids who wanted a ride in that douchemobile he called a car. Felix was surprised he hadn’t had the tires stolen yet.</p>
<p>“I’m not interested and I think he’s finally gained sanity in that area, because I haven’t had to run into him,” Felix said. He regretted even bringing this up.</p>
<p>“Okay, okay,” Annette said, clearly giving up (thank fucking Seiros). “How is the dance prep going?”</p>
<p>“Fine,” Felix said. “Dorothea’s doing most of the work, I’m just helping the kids out with the decorations. It’s why I need more materials. They’re going… elaborate.”</p>
<p>“It is such a great theme,” Ashe said, a little dreamily. “Myth &amp; Fates! Just think about all the cool things you could be? A Knight, Loog, or the Maiden wind. Ah, wow,” Ashe stopped and laughed at himself. “I feel jealous of teenagers.”</p>
<p>“Me too,” Annette said, “we didn’t even have a QSA club when I went to school.”</p>
<p>“Hmph,” Felix said, for lack of anything better. It wasn’t like he could shit talk that concept. He’d met Ashe and Annette at a GLA meetup when he’d first gotten to Leicester. If he’d had that kind of thing in school, the first two decades of his life might have gone a little more smoothly.</p>
<p>“What are you building anyway?” Annette asked. “Seems weird you’re doing a dance decoration out of metal pieces.”</p>
<p>“A dragon,” Felix said. There were suggestions of actually having it breathe fire which he had to shoot down for safety reasons, but did enjoy picturing it and brainstorming the mechanics.</p>
<p>“That is <em>so cool</em>,” Ashe said. His smile was too much teeth. “Do they need more chaperones?”</p>
<p>Felix snorted and Ashe started trying to convince Annette that they could use one for the shop as a mascot.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>&amp;</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“It’s going well,” Dorothea said soothingly, because she irritatingly knew Felix’s nerves got the best of him whenever he had this art show or a fencing tournament. Something about being a control freak and having to let the kids finish everything off, so she claimed.</p>
<p>“I can see that,” Felix said. He crossed his arms over his chest, frowning. There were too many people in here. That should've been a good thing, considering it was to showcase student artwork, but it set Felix even more on edge.</p>
<p>Most of the participants in the show were his students or former students, so Felix had a lot invested in it. They’d done particularly well this year, though there were always one or two clearly phoning their projects in.</p>
<p>“Prowling single parent, three o’clock,” Dorothea said under her breath, proving why it was occasionally useful to be friends with her.</p>
<p>Felix glanced in that direction and then plotted the easiest course in the opposite. He went table to table, checking on the different displays. There were less traditional pieces each year. Felix got, at minimum, ten submissions that wanted to use social media as their focus. He’d only ever said yes to one student who’d used it to make a mosaic of selfies creating the image of a mirror. Everyone else seemed to want an excuse to fuck around on their Indechgram—or whatever the new thing was—rather than do actual work.</p>
<p>Felix found his way towards Rowan’s project, observing as they showed another student how it worked. The project had turned out really well—it was always a risk with some of the more ambitious concepts, plenty of times the execution faltered, but Rowan put a lot of hard work and time into it. The structure and base of the piece were traditional materials, but the actual interaction element, jumping from tablet screen to tablet screen, felt like more of a modern concept.</p>
<p>The two adults that had come with Rowan seemed to be missing. Their mother was in the crowd checking out the other projects, while their uncle was…</p>
<p>“Why is your uncle holding up Matilda’s piece?” Felix asked.</p>
<p>Rowan glanced up, smiling brightly and then looked over towards Matilda’s station. “Oh, Mattie’s stand broke half an hour ago. She went to go find a new one.”</p>
<p>“So he’s been… holding it up for half an hour?”</p>
<p>Rowan nodded. “Yep.” They said it with zero hesitation, like it wasn’t a completely strange thing to do.</p>
<p>Felix made his way across the temporarily converted cafeteria and towards where Sylvain was holding up a very delicate re-creation of the Daphnel fields with only his hand. He was also, Felix realized far too late, being talked to by one of the more persistent single parents, Manuela.</p>
<p>“Really?” she said, almost purring. “That <em>is</em> interesting. You know I’ve never had it put that way before.”</p>
<p>“I hear that all the time,” Sylvain said, with an easy smile. His eyes flicked towards Felix and the smile faltered a little—Felix tried not to think too hard about whatever that meant. Maybe he was finally gaining sense and was scared of him. “Mr. F, to what do I own the pleasure?”</p>
<p>Manuela turned towards Felix and that purr turned into a melodic growl. “Pleasure isn’t the word I’d use for it.”</p>
<p>Felix looked at her, decided it wasn’t worth the effort and went around Sylvain to see how exactly the stand was broken.</p>
<p>“One of these days you won’t be such a hot topic for the single parents, Felix,” Manuela said.</p>
<p>“Good,” Felix said and ignored the feel of Sylvain’s eyes on him while he messed with the hinge. The clicking of heels meant she’d retreated, probably looking for another target on her quest for taking the single off her parent status.</p>
<p>Sylvain clucked his tongue. “See, now I don’t feel special if you heartlessly reject everyone like that.”</p>
<p>Felix ignored him and started re-fastening one of the joints to see if he could fix it.</p>
<p>“That was also a joke if it wasn’t clear,” Sylvain said. “You seem to be incapable of recognizing them.”</p>
<p>“I recognize them when they’re actually funny,” Felix said, unavoidably catching sight of the twitch on Sylvain’s lips now that he’d engaged him.</p>
<p>“So is Sprig gonna win this art showcase?” Sylvain asked.</p>
<p>“It’s not a competition,” Felix said, then frowned and flicked his eyes up at him. “Sprig?”</p>
<p>“Yeah, because Rowan’s a tree. And they used to be a little sprig before they shot up.”</p>
<p>“Clever,” Felix said, dryly and went back to working on the stand.</p>
<p>“They pretend to hate it now, but loved it when they were little.” Sylvain paused, though seemed incapable of letting silence sit for more than half a second. “What are you doing?”</p>
<p>“Fixing it, unless you really feel like holding it up for the next two hours.”</p>
<p>“I do like to show off,” Sylvain said, sounding proud of that. He leaned over a little to try to get a better look at what Felix was doing. “Is mechanic work also part of your mysterious enigma-like charm?”</p>
<p>“No,” Felix said, and gave up on trying to fix the joint. He reached into his bag and took out the duct tape he’d been carrying, ignoring Sylvain’s raised eyebrows and tore a piece off with his teeth. He had to wrap it around more than a few times, but it seemed to hold the stand in place as securely as anything else would.</p>
<p>“Nice,” Sylvain said, as he tested the display stand and finally let go of the project once he’d confirmed it held the weight. “Even if I have seventeen million questions about why you’re carrying duct tape.” He shook his arm from his wrist to his shoulder. “Augh that feels better. Thanks.”</p>
<p>Felix stared at him for a second. “You didn’t have to hold it up.”</p>
<p>Sylvain shrugged, rubbing out his arm. He was dressed up in what Felix assumed was one of those plain dress shirts that looked like nothing but cost an arm and leg. It was a simple navy button up, except he’d pushed the sleeves up his arms and unbuttoned the top making it unnecessarily casual. “Sprig didn’t need any help. This kid did. I already walked around the hall twice—not like there was anything else to do.”</p>
<p>“Hm.” Felix wasn’t sure he bought that, but maybe Sylvain was naturally disingenuous. It seemed to ooze off him any time Felix talked to him. “I’m sure Matilda appreciated it.”</p>
<p>“I really hope she didn’t get lost,” Sylvain said, contrasting Felix’s earlier thought and seeming genuinely concerned. “She’s missing on all the praise for this bitching diorama.” He paused and then added, “But Rowan’s still going to win.”</p>
<p>“It is not a competition,” Felix said again.</p>
<p>Sylvain had an outrageously irritating smile. “But if it <em>was</em>?”</p>
<p>Felix shoved the duct tape back in his bag and closed it, ready to go back to ignoring him, but unfortunately forgot that Sylvain’s arm was free so he could easily follow.</p>
<p>Sylvain actually hummed when he walked. “Do you wear one of those folded down coveralls and giant goggles when you do metal shop?”</p>
<p>Felix couldn’t help balking at him over his shoulder. “What?”</p>
<p>“Trying to get a mental picture,” Sylvain said, then cleared his throat. “Uh, anyway. Sprig said you were asking about getting a ride to the scrapyard? I have literally nothing left to do and would kind of like to make up for the ass I made out of myself at the auto shop.”</p>
<p>Felix felt his brows lower even more. He twisted his mouth and turned the rest of him around to face Sylvain. “Your sports car isn’t really what I had in mind.”</p>
<p>“Don’t count her out,” Sylvain said, because <em>of</em> <em>course</em> he referred to his car as a woman. “She fits four teens at a time. I’m sure I can throw some metal in the backseat without an issue if the trunk gets full. Better than nothing, right?”</p>
<p>“Your car might get scratched up,” Felix pointed out.</p>
<p>Sylvain smiled that obnoxious smile again. “Good thing I already know a great repair shop.”</p>
<p>“Why?” Felix asked flatly.</p>
<p>He expected Sylvain to try flirting again, but he only shrugged and said, “I’m incredibly bored? There’s not a lot to do in this town.”</p>
<p>Felix knew he’d regret it, but this did save him from having to ask any of his friends to borrow their cars and hearing the subsequent long lecture about how dangerous <em>and</em> inconvenient his bike was. “Fine. Tomorrow. Seven AM.”</p>
<p>“<em>Seven AM</em>? On a Saturday?” Sylvain balked and then blinked. “Wait, did you just say yes?”</p>
<p>“To the ride,” Felix said, making sure to enunciate. He wasn’t letting him think this was a date.</p>
<p>“Okay, insanely early it is.” Sylvain’s smile was maybe slightly less obnoxious this time. “Meet you at the school parking lot?”</p>
<p>Felix gave him a nod and turned around again. He had an art show to manage.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank you for reading! If you enjoyed this please consider bumping the <a href="https://twitter.com/waffle_fancy/status/1358974990381588481?s=20">promo tweet</a> and <a href="https://twitter.com/seofim/status/1358975214093172738?s=20">fim's art</a>!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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